


Covered In Mud

by Absinthiana



Series: They Who Stand [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Belonging, Child Alistair (Dragon Age), Child Neglect, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fereldan Culture and Customs, Ferelden, Friendship, Gen, Lake Calenhad, POV Child, POV Multiple, Rainesfere, Redcliffe, alistair appreciation week
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 18:05:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14676525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Absinthiana/pseuds/Absinthiana
Summary: Before Alistair Theirin was King of Ferelden, before he was a Grey Warden and hero, he was a little boy. A bastard. Unwanted. Until somebody wanted him.





	Covered In Mud

**The Second Day of Kingsway, 9:16**  
  
Isolde charges into the library and scowls at the shelves and shadows. _He’s hiding in here. He always hides in here, eventually._ “You ruined my new slippers!”  
  
_“Did not!”_  
  
_He’s behind the shelves, but moving. Maker, he sneaks like a rat: scuttling from shadow to shadow. Filthy little bastard._ “You did! You let that filthy animal do that on purpose!”  
  
“It was an accident! She’s just a puppy!”  
  
The Arlessa shudders. The finest slippers she's ever owned: just arrived from Denerim, not even on her feet for an hour, and they're ruined! And squelching. _Ugh, this is disgusting!_ Soaked through with mabari urine, because even if it’s a puppy, the damnable thing emptied its entire bladder in the middle of the hallway and all that filthy little bastard had to do was watch it. Now it's up to her to evict them both from Eamon's library before they make an even bigger mess. She tries to smile, but her teeth grind. “Alistair,” she says carefully, the Ferelden vowels weighing heavier in her mouth the angrier she gets, “come out here.”  
  
_“No!”_  
  
She reels toward the boy’s voice. He’s on top of one of the broad oak shelves. He probably ripped the spine from a half a dozen of Eamon’s books on his way up. _Ungrateful cur._ “You come when I call you!”  
  
“You only ever call me so you can hit me!”  
  
The Arlessa clutches the fabric gathered at the front of her skirt and refuses to give in to the fury tingling red behind her eyes. The healer warned her that strong emotions - any strong emotions - could be harmful. She doesn't think she could endure another loss. Not when she's been trying for so long. Not when Eamon deserves a _proper Ferelden heir_. She must calm down. _Calme-toi, calme-toi ... ce sale p'tit bâtard ... ah, Créateur, donnez-moi de la force. _“You’d better hide on that shelf, you filthy little bastard. If I get my hands on you, you won’t be sitting down for a week!”

Alistair snorts. He rolls onto his back and places the dozing puppy on top of his belly. They’re safe up here. And actually, the Arlessa never touches him. She gets the servants. Always the men, because the women can be lippy. The men don’t dare. At least, not to her face. Lately, she’s been making Ser Donall do it, and he's not even a servant. But he is new, so he doesn’t know if upsetting Arlessa Isolde will upset Arl Eamon. Poor Ser Donall, dancing around for the Arlessa, who pouts and fusses until he promises to teach Alistair a “lesson he won’t forget.” That makes her happy.  
  
At least, it makes her go away. Then Ser Donall takes him up to the battlements and they watch the boats on Lake Calenhad for the afternoon. Last time, Elaina even brought them up "extra" cheese and pickle sandwiches from Master Dennett's lunch. That was good cheese.  
  
Of course, Alistair wouldn’t ever tell the Arlessa any of that. Ser Donall would get into trouble.  
  
_How can Arlessa Isolde be married to Arl Eamon and be so blind to him? She's the only person in Redcliffe who doesn’t see that Arl Eamon is a good man. A genuinely good man! No matter how much she gripes about the "filthy little bastard,"the worst I'll ever get is a freezing bath and bed without supper. None of Arl Eamon’s men an appetite for thrashing eight-year-old boys._  
  
Alistair stares up at the spider tending to her web between the ceiling beams. The puppy snores softly in his gentle grip. Below them, the Arlessa’s silk skirts rustle around her while she paces. He knows, from years of experience, that he can wait up here longer than Arlessa Isolde can patrol down there. _She’d last longer if she pulled out the desk chair and sat down, but she’s much prettier than she is clever._  
  
Men’s voices rumble down the hallway and spill into the library.  
  
The Arlessa halts her swishy pacing.  
  
Alistair grins: _she’ll have to break off her attack in front of Arl Eamon_. With luck, she’ll forget he’s here and he can escape to the kennels or the stable when she leaves.  
  
“There you are, my darling!” Arl Eamon’s voice rumbles into the library. He adores Arlessa Isolde, so he always calls her “darling” and kisses her on the cheek, no matter who’s watching.  
  
“Might want to watch where you step, Isolde,” cautions … it sounds like Bann Teagan. His voice isn’t as rumbly as Arl Eamon’s. More reedy. “There’s a big puddle in the hallway.”  
  
Alistair bites his tongue to keep himself from laughing.  
  
“I know,” Arlessa Isolde sounds annoyed. She’s probably still wearing that face-twisting scowl.  
  
“Ah. Bad luck.” One of the big chairs by the fireplace creaks.  
  
Alistair wriggles closer to the edge of the bookcase and rolls over, careful to neither wake the puppy nor get spiderweb in his hair. Now he can see both of the big chairs on either side of the fireplace.  
  
Bann Teagan is lounging in the chair facing Alistair’s shelf. His legs are stretched out. “But they’ll dry easily enough by the fire.”  
  
“Even dry, they’ll still be soaked with-”  
  
“It’s puppy wee, Isolde. It’s hardly like you tiptoed through a cesspit.”  
  
Arl Eamon _harrumphs!_ at Bann Teagan, who shrugs. Arl Eamon then settles into the opposite chair, next to Arlessa Isolde.  
  
“You don’t understand! These are made of kid leather and silk! And the thread for the beading-”  
  
Alistair stops listening to Arlessa Isolde droning on about shoes. _Really, she could be hours … ha, I bet Bann Teagan wishes he could just disappear. I wonder how Arl Eamon always manages to look like he cares what she’s saying?_  
  
When she finally stops talking, Bann Teagan shrugs. “I don’t wear imported ladies’ slippers, Isolde. Not enough arch support.”  
  
Alistair grins at the thought of Bann Teagan loping around Redcliffe Castle in a pair of dainty, beaded slippers with precarious heels. _Would he insist on showing all the knights, so they could see how beautiful they are and how slim they make his ankles look? Would he wear hose, too? Would he care about the colour? Would he insist on only wearing silk that matches his eyes?_ Alistair chortles at the idea.  
  
The hair prickles at the back of Alistair’s neck, the way it always does when somebody is watching him.

Because somebody is.

Bann Teagan.

Alistair’s stomach flips. The Bann isn't staring, but he is watching. The same way Alistair watches a fennec when he wants it to wander closer.  With the side of his eyes. Will Bann Teagan tell on him? He doesn’t want to come down from the shelf, but he especially doesn’t want to surrender the puppy to Arlessa Isolde. Master Rolf told him to take care of her until she leaves with Bann Teagan - and that she has to like ladies, except that Alistair can't tell anybody that, or Master Rolf would get into trouble. He considers sliding back down the shelf and hiding in the way-way back of the library. There's an empty bottom shelf behind an empty trunk. Except it’s dusty and he might sneeze. And the puppy probably shouldn’t breathe in dust.  
  
Arlessa Isolde turns to Arl Eamon to say something.  
  
Bann Teagan’s eyes flick up to Alistair. He winks!  
  
Arlessa Isolde, doesn’t notice and doesn’t stop talking. “-time we tried this, your arrangements were disastrous! Lady Dariole and her retinue were stranded at that horrid little inn for three days. The snow reached past their ankles.”  
  
Bann Teagan shrugs, and his eyes dart to Alistair, then back to the Arl and Arlessa. “That gaggle were lucky it was August. If it’d been a real snowfall, we would’ve been up to our balls-”  
  
“-Teagan!” bellows Arl Eamon.  
  
“I apologize,” Bann Teagan winks at Alistair again, who grins down at him.  
  
Arl Eamon _harrumphs!_  
  
Isolde sniffs. “I’m only trying to help.”  
  
“If you truly want to help, kindly stop describing Rainesfere as a _town_ to your refined lady friends.”  
  
“But will you see Lady Cecilie?” She leans forward. Arl Eamon leans forward.  
  
Bann Teagan’s already leaning back. “I wouldn’t mind, but I’m afraid I’m rather short-handed. I'd need to prepare.”  
  
Arlessa Isolde fusses and fidgets with the rings on Arl Eamon’s hand.  
  
He takes her hand in his and pats it. “I could certainly spare you a few men,” offers Arl Eamon.  
  
“From the kennels?”  
  
“No, I’m sorry. The other two bitches are expected to whelp in the next week or so.”  
  
“Really, nobody from the kennels?” Bann Teagan arches his eyebrow at Arl Eamon, dangling the question in midair.

 _Poor Bann Teagan. Even with one litter already weaned, Master Rolf and Jack are busy and they'll stay busy. There’s nobody left - oh. Wait! That would be me!_ If he went to Rainesfere, he wouldn’t have to worry about hiding from Arlessa Isolde for a whole week. Maybe two. The thought makes Alistair lightheaded and giddy. He tries to squash the floating sensation in his chest. He reminds himself that he’ll have a great deal of work to do. Probably tiring. Possibly dangerous. Nope, it's still there: lightheaded giddiness, almost joy at the prospect of being out from under the Arlessa’s imported kid leather and beaded silk heel.  
  
Arl Eamon coughs lightly. “Could you make do with Alistair?”  
  
“Oh, I think so.” Bann Teagan winks at Alistair.  
  
Arlessa Isolde sputters. Alistair watches the backs of her neck and ears turn red. She tries to scupper this radical and wonderful idea, even though all Alistair ever manages to do is upset her. He can't defend himself - he's pretty sure Arl Eamon won't like him climbing so high, especially with the puppy. All Alistair can do is watch, silent, from a mostly-undiscovered hiding spot, while the Arlessa tells Bann Teagan that he's a filthy little bastard - like it's his own fault or something.

And she does.

"Isolde, half the children in Rainesfere are bastards. According to the gossip in the arling, they're all my bastards."

"But that's not true!"

"Not unless I was an enterprising twelve-year-old. But my original point remains: nobody in Rainesfere will care."

 _Nobody in Rainesfere_ _would care? Everybody in Redcliffe does. And Denerim._ Alistair knows that most people are kind to him because they love Arl Eamon, or because they pity the poor little bastard. If they get to know him for himself, people are kind because of friendship. But only if they bother to get to know him. Most don't. It might not be his own fault, but it is his own shame.

So the Arlessa tells Bann Teagan that he's disobedient. And stupid. And lazy.

She tells him.

She gives him examples. Everything he's ever spilled or dropped or knocked over. Everything he's ever misplaced. Every icy bath he's ever avoided.

Alistair wants to defend himself. Except ... truthfully, he does spill things. And drop them. And knock them over. He loses things. Never on purpose! And there's always a reason. Sometimes, a very good reason, but it happens. Too often, it happens with other peoples' things. Arl Eamon's things. The Arlessa's. He is destructive. And he does hate baths. Which makes him filthy. On the outside, like he already is on the inside. He's never heard it all together before. All the reasons Arlessa Isolde hates him. Maybe she's right.

Arl Eamon doesn't say much, even though he usually asks Alistair to explain his destructiveness and his filth. All the Arl does is try to calm his wife down.

Alistair tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. He nuzzles the sleeping, snoring puppy, letting her velvety fur wick away the hot tears on his cheek. _Maybe nobody in Rainesfere would care that I'm a bastard, but they'd care that I'm awful. I'm bad._

Bann Teagan's reedy voice cuts through Alistair's muffled sniffling. "Hm. I've been speaking with Kennelmaster Rolf and Horsemaster Dennet. They both speak well of his work ethic. Apparently, Alistair’s a strong, helpful lad. He can safeguard that pup he’s been handling so expertly, and help her to settle at that horrid little inn. That'd be a great help to me - I'm certainly no mabari handler. Besides, it'll be a break for you, Isolde. Surely,  you've earned a break?”

Alistair stares at Bann Teagan. _How can he still want me to go with him?_

“That boy is always trouble.”  
  
“Oh, don’t worry, Isolde. If Alistair gives me any grief, I’ll smash in his skull with my wallop mallet.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Would you like more about Rainesfere and its inhabitants?**  
> [ _Rainesfere Welcomes You_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13834338) is a multi-chapter story that takes place the same year Alistair was born. It features the key OCs of Rainesfere and their then-teenaged Bann. Please note: this story is rated E. Please read the summary very carefully before proceeding.  
> 


End file.
